


Words Can Be Like Knives (they can cut you open)

by Abbie



Series: All of the shit talk, yeah all the chatter [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Rumors, Slut Shaming, Team Arrow, consequences to the EA decision, workplace bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/pseuds/Abbie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity confides in Diggle about the rumors being spread about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Can Be Like Knives (they can cut you open)

**Author's Note:**

> Set roughly one week after Rumor Has It; roughly two weeks from the Season 2 premiere.

Felicity stood at the back of the plushly appointed executive elevator, head tilted back against the mirrored wall, lashes sticking together behind her glasses spotted with dampness. Her arms hung at her sides, fingers curled into her palms, hiding the slick smears of bright colors staining the tips and knuckles.

She shook slightly, all over, even as she breathed in careful, measured beats. Striving for calm. For control.

She slitted her eyes open to see the climbing number of the digital display over the doors. She had two more floors to get it together.

Turning, she surveyed her reflection for betrayals. The spiky wetness of her lashes was a blaring billboard of tears already spent, but until she could wash the color off her hands, there was nothing for it. Her hair, straightened and falling simply around her shoulders, was smooth and unmussed. She scanned her shiny red pumps and chic black dress for bright smudges, but she appeared, thankfully, clear.

One look at her face still gave too much away. And her hands…

Thank god there was a ladies room between the elevator and her desk. She just needed the hall to be clear between here and there. She was in no frame of mind for questions or comments—something she’d have to bury under some semblance of professional composure before she retook Oliver’s outer office.

The elevator softly chimed the floor arrival, and Felicity whirled, stopping herself from smoothing the fabric over her waist at the last moment.

Throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin high, she hesitated half a breath before striding out of the small, safe limbo of the lift and back into the ever-watched warzone.

Heels clicking on the marble floor of the hallway, Felicity took long strides, eyes staring fixedly at the dark oak of the bathroom door, a silent, desperate litany in her head begging the universe it be empty.

She reached the door and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Diggle step into the hallway at that precise moment, watched his head turn in her direction as she shouldered into the restroom and prayed he didn’t see her, or would simply assume she was taking a completely normal bathroom break and leave her be.

Felicity stepped further into the elegantly decorated bathroom, eyes scanning the gap below the four stall doors and gratefully counting zero feet.

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, she moved to the row of sinks and pushed the tap with the back of her wrist, nudging it over to warm. She stuck her hands under the soap dispenser—and completely missed the squirt of antibacterial foam that shot out when a knock on the door made her jump.

"Felicity? You in there?"

Felicity stared at the little puddle of foam on the floor and sighed. “Damn it.”

Determined that John would go away if she just ignored him, Felicity stuck her hands back under the soap dispenser and let it fill her palms.

Behind her, the door swung open, and Felicity jerked her head up in surprise, watching in the mirror as Diggle proceeded cautiously into the room, eyes sweeping for a count of occupants.

"Digg!" Felicity snapped, "This is the ladies room! Last time I checked, you do not identify as a lady."

He took a step towards her, favoring her with an amused curl of his mouth and watchful, observant eyes. “You never know, Felicity, I could have hidden depths.”

Pursing her lips, she shuffled closer to the sink and running water, hands held at waist level and soap beginning to seep through her fingers. “That, I do not doubt, but I don’t see a secret longing to be Joan among them.”

Diggle lifted one brow, eyes dropping to Felicity’s cupped hands just before she turned away and started smoothing the soap over them above the sink. “What’s all over your hands, Felicity? You said you were getting your phone out of your car, not stopping to fingerpaint with second graders.”

Felicity clenched her jaw and felt her throat constrict. Her nerves had calmed somewhat in the easy process of trading words with John, but his attention on her hands brought it all stabbing up like venomous spines through her skin again. “It’s not fingerpaint. It’s lipstick. I had a delay.”

The eyebrow rose higher, and Digg moved closer, only a couple of feet behind her now. “You went down to the parking garage to get your phone out of your car, and ended up being gone for almost half an hour. What kind of delay puts a dozen different colors of lipstick all over your hands?”

Felicity could feel his eyes on her face in the mirror, but she just kept her gaze lowered to her hands, carefully edging at a smear of Flamingo Sunset pink in the crease of her thumb with her fingernail. “Just a prank. I had to take care of it.”

She made the mistake of glancing up and saw John’s brows lower thunderously as he frowned, arms crossing over his chest. “A prank. And here you are looking simultaneously like a squeaky toy could spook you and like you wish that was blood you were washing off your hands. Exactly what kind of prank was this, Felicity?”

She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from his, his expectant expression tugging at the need to burst with this—to talk to _someone_ who could understand. Who would care.

Sucking in a sharp breath through her nose, she rinsed her hands under the almost too hot stream of the faucet and said, “The kind where somebody wrote certain messages on my windshield and car windows.”

John shifted his weight as she shut off the tap and shook out her hands, moving to the paper towel dispenser as his brows went up again. “Messages. Plural. What kind of messages? ‘Josh was here?’ ‘Wash me?’”

The motions of the paper on her hands became rougher and her nostrils flared with emotion. “Messages like _whore_ and _slut_ and _gold-digger_. It felt a little like going back to high school with the _cocksucker_ and _sperm dumpster_ on the driver’s side window, actually.”

Digg stared at her, his own nostrils flaring and eyes wide, spine ramrod straight and hands balled into fists tucked under each elbow. “ _What_.”

Felicity balled up the damp paper towels and tossed them into the discreet waste basket. Lifting her gaze to John’s, she swallowed and lost the battle to keep her chin from trembling. “It’s been a week, but this is the first time anybody felt the need to put the words _on my car_ for everyone to see.” She laughed, harsh and humorless. “I think I preferred getting slut-sneezed in Legal. At least that didn’t require fifteen minutes and two whole packs of wet wipes to clean up.”

"Felicity," Diggle began, his voice that very careful calm that belied a very dangerous anger. "Exactly how long has this been going on? And why?"

Sighing, Felicity glanced over at the fat-cushioned velvet couch against the wall and moved to sit on its edge, propping her elbows on her knees and dropping her forehead into her hands, fingers rubbing little circles at her temples. “How long it’s been going on is a pretty good question, but so far it seems like the answer is ‘since Oliver brought me a laptop.’ But I’ve only _known_ about it for about a week. I guess it was just… rumors? Unkind speculation? … _Before_. But now…?” She sighed again and sat up, looking at Digg with hollow, tired eyes. “It’s less rumor than generally accepted pseudo-fact. And nobody feels the need to be polite or subtle anymore, I guess.”

Diggle came over and lowered himself to sit carefully beside her, concerned expression fixed on her. “This is because of Oliver. Because he made you his EA.”

Felicity shrugged weakly. “Because he made me his EA, because he spends time around me when I’m a boring-looking nobody, because I was good at my job and that meant some people didn’t like me. Because people are bored, and worried, and angry, and I make an easy target for venting frustrations. The company slut.”

Digg’s jaw clenched, his fists on his thighs tightening before deliberately smoothing flat. “They’re seriously saying that about you? About _you_?”

Felicity glanced at him and was frustrated to find tears pricking her eyes again. “I am apparently an ambitious but lazy gold-digging social climber, riding the, and I quote, ‘escalator to success with Oliver’s dick in my mouth.’” She turned away, her jaw clenching in anger and voice taking on heat and intensity. “I think that one might be my favorite. That one and all the many variations on how I earned my position, and there’s been some gold star sex puns on _that_ one, on my knees. One guy in security stared at a run in my nylons the other day like it was a porn mag centerfold.”

"His name," Digg bit out, teeth gritted and a vein standing out on his temple. "I want his name, Felicity."

She turned back to face him. “What, Digg, are you gonna fire him? For staring at my leg? He didn’t say anything. He didn’t make obscene gestures. It was just… really obvious what he was imagining.”

He held her gaze, outrage burning in his eyes. “I can damn well do _something_.”

She scoffed, and he flinched. “No, you can’t. You wanna fire everybody who’s been talking about me behind my back? We’ll lose most of the company at this point, Digg. _Everyone_ here thinks Oliver handed me this job because I do him sexual favors. _Everybody_ , John. I wish I was even exaggerating. I used to think I had _friends_ here. A future.”

Diggle shot to his feet, hands pushing back his suit jacket to bracket his hips. “That’s it, screw this. C’mon. We’re going to Oliver, right now, you and me, and he’s fixing this damn mess for good. I didn’t back you up before when you said you didn’t want this, and I’m sorry. I didn’t see this coming, and I should have. My head was too far in our other game, thinking we needed somebody trustworthy shielding Oliver in this setting. You made sense to me for that. But I didn’t think it would cost you like _this_.” He shook his head, eyes on the floor, chin set stiff in shame. “It’s too much to ask, Felicity. It’s too much. He’ll see that.”

Felicity just stared up at him, shoulders slumped. “Even if he did, and maybe I’m just fresh off of running headlong at that brick wall for two weeks, but I’m not convinced he would—even if he did, Digg? It’s too late. The damage is done.” She tilted her head at him, hands limp in her lap. “Do you know what would happen if I went back to IT tomorrow? The rumor mill would be talking about how Oliver was tossing out his trash. That I was getting my old position back out of some kind of kindness, now that I’m all used up or he’s bored with me. And yeah, after a few weeks they’d find other things to talk about. But it’s what everyone would think and remember every time they looked at me. Any career advancement I ever managed in this company ever again would be waved away as favoritism or—or me blackmailing him.”

She glanced down, features tightening again into lines of anger. “Hell, they’ve already explained away the promotion _I earned_ after barely even _meeting_ Oliver as him wanting a more private office to screw me in.”

Diggle stared at her, a helpless burn of anger and sorrow eating at his ribcage. He didn’t know what to do for her. There was no one to threaten or shoot or intimidate. No strategy that he could implement to defend against this enemy. He didn’t have the tools for this kind of situation. He could only barely understand the extent of the damage it was dealing to her.

Quietly furious, he wondered if Oliver had ever considered this possible outcome when he made his decision, if he’d deemed it a necessary risk, or if it had just… never occurred to him what he was actually _doing_ to Felicity, by asking her to do this for him.

"No." Felicity’s stern voice broke him from his thoughts, and he looked at her in confusion. She glared at him. "I know that look, John Diggle. Don’t you even _think_ of telling Oliver about this. I told _you,_ not _him_. I’m not going crying to him to fix this. It wouldn’t do any good, and it’d make me feel like I was something close to the girl they all make me out to be.” She sucked in a deep breath, spine and shoulders straightening. “It’s too late to go back from this now. And this doesn’t change that Oliver _does_ need someone covering his ass via his front desk.” She shook her head sharply. “Now I just have even less choice about it. I can do this. I chose this life and I knew it wouldn’t be easy.” Her jaw firmed up, fingers twisting together against her skirt. “I can handle this. They’ll get bored of the subject eventually, right?”

John sighed, long and weary. “Are you _sure_ , Felicity? This is more than you should have ever had to deal with, for either job. No one would blame you if this was too much. Hell, _I_ think it’s too much.” He rubbed his jaw, trying to get his emotions and temper under control. “And I still think we need to talk to Oliver about this. There has to be _something_ that can be done that doesn’t make it worse.”

She pursed her lips, shaking her head in a sharp negative. “I don’t need saving, Digg. I can do this. Honestly, I think making it my _own_ choice is about the only way I can bear to go through with it.” She made a face at him as she said that, and he couldn’t help the little tug at the corner of his mouth. “And you know… I don’t think I really want to know. If Oliver knows about this. If he figured it into his little plan. Because either he did and he doesn’t care, and is a colossal ass I might be tempted to push out the giant floor to ceiling window.” Her mouth twisted in grim dissatisfaction. “Or he _doesn’t_ know about it and _didn’t_ think about it at all, in which case he might be an even _more_ colossal ass for being so—so stupidly short-sighted and selfish. And then I might just wait til we get to the foundry and stab him thirty-seven times with one of his own arrows.”

Diggle barked a surprised laugh. “He ran into your arrow ten times?”

She grinned at him, the first real smile he’d seen since the early morning. “This is why I love you, John.”

He smirked, moving closer and offering her a hand. “That, and the fact that if you _do_ decide to stab him to death, I’ll testify in court that he had it comin’.”

Smiling softly, she slipped her palm over his and let him pull her to her feet. “Knowing you’ve got _my_ back, Digg, makes having his back tolerable, even in this.” Her smile tightened down into something hard and flinty, a vindictive gleam shining behind her glasses. “Besides, I can always hack into the security feeds to find out who tagged my car. And when I do, they’re going to find themselves signed up for every horrible porn service and creepy sex toy subscription the internet can offer.”

He chuckled, squeezing her hand once before dropping it. “No doubt those’ll be using their work emails and packages delivered to their offices.”

She smiled, soft and grateful. “I’m so glad there’s at least one person here who really knows me.”


End file.
